Intervention
by Asidian
Summary: When Loki is captured after nearly destroying Manhattan, he is returned to Asgard for sentencing. An eternity spent chained beneath a serpent's fangs, however, may be too harsh a punishment for any of the Avengers to condone. Spoilers, torture, language.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: So I have an ongoing fic I should be working on and five prompts I want to do, and instead this gets into my head and won't let me rest until I write it. ._.a I… I don't even know. This may keep going if I feel like it/ have time, because I have a lot more ideas for it, including the one that started me writing in the first place.

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Intervention- Chapter 1

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It had been just over two years since the alien invasion that destroyed most of downtown Manhattan when the god of thunder appeared in Tony Stark's workshop, looking like he badly needed a both a bath and a bed. His armor was tarnished and uncared for, as though he'd fought and then forgotten to clean it; his hair was wild and his beard untrimmed. The dark circles under his eyes made him look a little wild around the edges.

"Man of iron," said Thor, without preamble, and the words were strained. "I have need of your knowledge."

"Came to the right place, sparky," Tony told him, straightening up and wiping his hands off on the greasecloth kept habitually on the workbench. "Studies show I'm a better source of my knowledge than 85% of the rest of the world."

But that grim, haggard look didn't budge from Thor's face, and he shook his head, impatient. "I beg you, do not waste time in jest. I would ask a boon of you, and I would ask it done with all haste."

"Rush job, huh?" Tony glanced over at the half-assembled robot on the metal countertop, gears exposed and legs unfinished. "Must be your lucky day. All I've got on my plate is Fury's homework." He tapped on the tabletop to bring up a holographic menu, glanced down the list and made a selection. "Jarvis, store this one. Containment E."

"As you wish, sir," came the disembodied voice, genteel and efficient. The counter split open down the center, and the unfinished robot lowered itself out of sight.

"Okay, shoot," said Tony. "What're we looking for, here? Mechanized helmet? Something more modern, less wings?"

The god of thunder neither smiled nor took offense; he only stared back with somber blue eyes and provided an answer. "I require a device capable of containing the foulest of venoms. By necessity, it must stand at least this height from the floor-" Thor lifted his hand to the appropriate height, and then lifted it again. "-but no farther than this."

Tony eyed the estimates as he made them, called up a holographic grid to hover in the air. "More than five feet, less than eight," he said as he input the numbers. "How big around are we talking, here? And do you just wanna hold this stuff?"

"Hold, aye, and divert it as well. The basin needs be as large around as a man is tall, on all sides." Thor fell silent for a moment, jaw clenched, and the next words emerged scrubbed raw, thick with emotion. "None must be allowed to escape, nor any find a straight path to the floor."

"So we're looking at a drainage system." Tony looked the measurements over again- looked his _teammate_ over again. "You know, this stuff's not really my area of expertise. Sure you don't want that helmet? I could stick some lasers in there for you."

And it was _alarming_ to be seized by the god of thunder, one hand on each shoulder, grip hard enough to bruise. The force in the man's voice, and in his eyes, and in his _being_ as he shook Tony put an end to the rest of the teasing that had lain on the tip of his tongue. "Anthony Stark, this is not a matter to be made light of." Thor took a breath in, and it was not entirely steady. "Please. You must grant me this favor."

"Yeah," Tony found himself saying, bewildered and a little freaked out. "Yeah, sure. Drainage off to the side." He put one hand over Thor's and eased his teammate's grip free- turned back to the hologram and added a few sketchy ideas before stepping back to look it over. The draft was a bit like a very big, very solid basketball hoop with a pipe sticking out from one end. "Something like this?"

The god of thunder looked at the display, raised a finger to trace the hoop's stand. "Something lies beneath. The solid line here must be altered."

Tony turned back to the model, and when it had begun to take on the proper shape with a few deft touches of his fingers, he saw Thor nod in approval from the corner of his eye. "Just so. And be cautious, when you select the material from which you will craft. The venom it must hold is damaging to the flesh."

"Corrosive, huh? What are we dealing with, some kind of acid?" Tony frowned at the drain on the holographic display- frowned at the measurements, and the shape. "Just what the hell do you need this for, anyway?"

But Thor did not answer. He was already moving for the door. "I must not linger," said the god of thunder. "Will your work be complete on the morrow?"

"Kinda pushing it. You came to the master, but I can't pull an H. G. Wells, here." Tony flicked his fingers apart and the model tripled in size; he began tapping away at the dimensions larger than life in glowing green, narrowing in on the details. "It's gonna be a few days."

He was so busy concentrating on the screen that he almost missed the way his teammate's brow drew together in worry, the way he lingered after saying he couldn't. "I have faith that you will succeed," said the god of thunder. "Perhaps this H. G. Wells holds talent, but never have I known a craftsman of your like."

Tony barked a laugh and shook his head. "Ah, screw it. It'll be like college. I'll make eighty pots of coffee and call out for pizza."

For the first time since he had set foot in the workshop, Thor smiled- broad and grateful, but a complicated expression all the same. "I am in your debt," he said, and inclined his head.

As he was turning to go, Tony wondered what it was supposed to mean when a god bowed to you.

"Jesus Christ," gasped Tony Stark, when he had finished puking in the pitch black of wherever the hell his teammate had brought him, "What is that _smell_?"

Whatever it was, it was the worst thing he'd _ever_ smelled, close and cloying. It reeked of sickness and infection and shit, of damp and mold, of coppery blood and the weird, reptilian stink he usually associated with the zoo. He held a hand over his mouth and nose to try and block it out, but the combination of the sudden stench and the sleep he'd lost finishing Thor's drainage system left him feeling dizzy and a little nauseated.

If Thor had heard his question, he didn't respond, and just as Tony was thinking things couldn't possibly be any creepier, just as he was beginning to wonder whether his teammate had brought them to the wrong place, a noise drifted out of the darkness in front of them. It was a long, low keening sort of sound, like an animal in pain. It raised gooseflesh on Tony's arms, and he tightened his grip on the piping for the drain, just to give himself something to hold onto.

"Hurry up with that light," he muttered to Thor- and as the words left his mouth, the god of thunder finally succeeded with the flashlight and a stream of white flooded the cavern. Because it _was_ a cavern- a great, damp, dripping cavern, the walls slick with moisture, the ceiling somewhere out beyond the flashlight's glow.

Tony's mind took in none of these things in the first several seconds, however. Instead, it found itself preoccupied with the sight of the snake that loomed, head larger than his full height, suspended from what must have been an outcropping far above them. Its flat reptilian eyes stared blankly, giving no sign that it even registered their presence; its gaping mouth was partially open, and a thin stream of drool, milky white, slid steadily downward, dripping from fangs easily the size of his forearm.

"Why didn't you tell me to bring the _suit_?" Tony was hissing in the very next instant- was drawing back instinctively as though to fire repulsors that weren't there.

But Thor was not listening. Instead, he was approaching the massive creature, walking toward it as though it did not concern him, broad shoulders a hard line, head held up as though going out to face a battle.

Tony's voice echoed in the cavern, hollow against the walls. "Are you out of your mind? That thing's going to take your head off!"

The snake, however, did not move- did not even seem to be watching his teammate approach. And almost as though in response to his own voice, the sound from before came again, long and trembling- midway between a moan and a sob. This time, when his eyes darted in search of the source, the darkness did not block his sight: the naked figure of a man lay stretched beneath the snake, bound to an outcropping of rock. He was all ribs and sharp ridges of bone, all too-thin pale limbs, all open sores on top from the places the venom had splattered and on the bottom where the rock had rubbed away the flesh. The man's face, directly below the snake's mouth, had gotten the worst of it; it was raw and red, glistening with blood and exposed muscle and the slick of poison. The man shouldn't have been alive, much less moving, and yet he was- was thrashing weakly in his bonds, turning his head as far as it would go to avoid the white liquid as it dribbled down. It was not far enough.

Tony thought he was going to be sick again.

Distantly, as though through smoked glass, he registered that Thor had taken one of the prisoner's hands in his own. "The man of iron has completed his work," the god of thunder said, voice somehow hoarse and gentle at once. "It is as I promised. All will be well, brother." There was a waver in his voice as he said it; he paused to steel himself, then repeated the words again. "All will yet be well."

Standing in a cavern that was meant to be a final resting place, surrounded by the reek of suffering, Tony Stark was indeed sick again.


	2. Chapter 2

"No, straight means straight," said Tony, and his voice was rough with tension. "_Hold_ it, for fuck's sake." And Thor already _was_ keeping the drainage pipes at a perfect right angle to the base while they were connected, but the whole situation was a little more demanding, now that he knew it was to keep someone's face from being melted off- now that the face in question was a bloody ruin no more than two feet from where he worked. It had been a long time since Tony Stark's hands had shaken while he was in the middle of a project, but they did now.

"There. Christ. Okay, put it up." The god of thunder seized the finished drain in both hands and hauled, lifting it bodily until it stood upright. It settled over the top of the outcropping of rock, standing on a tripod that straddled it with the massive catch basin situated above Loki's prone form. Tony watched his newest invention uneasily for a moment, checking for leaks, for instability, for signs that he might have to make modifications. But it held, and the slow trickle of thick white venom from the snake's mouth made it no further than the drain, turned aside from its intended target.

On the rock where he was bound, Loki's thin form shuddered and then lay still. Tony tried hard not to wonder whether that had been in relief, because the thought roiled his stomach. Yeah, sure, this was the nutjob who had tried to help himself to the whole Earth, but there were some things that just shouldn't have to be lived through. And this? This qualified.

Mission accomplished, Tony rounded on Thor with sudden force; he was sleep-deprived, shaken, feeling way over his head, and he'd walked into this without so much as a heads-up. "Time to talk. Spill it, big boy."

"What more is there to say than that you have my thanks?" The man had taken his brother's hand in his own once more, now that the drain was standing. The grip was oddly gentle for a god who usually seemed the embodiment of power.

"Well," snapped Tony, "you can start with why you dragged me here instead of just hauling him out in the first place. Then you can keep going and tell me why you didn't bother _bringing_ him anything. Any metal bowl would've worked until I was finished." Food wouldn't have hurt either, because holy hell, the body stretched out beside them was emaciated, every bone present and accounted for, easily visible. Blankets, clothes, medicine, water to drink or clean those wounds- any one of them would have helped ease the wait until the drain had been finished, and yet none were present. Vaguely, Tony realized he was becoming agitated- that he was being put in mind of a different cave, a place where he'd suffered, himself- but he could not separate the thoughts from the situation at hand, and the reckless energy remained.

"Our father was most thorough," Thor replied, and did not meet his eyes. "These are bonds I have not the power to break, and when I travel to this place, I am allowed nothing to aid him. Did you not wonder that you must carry the whole of it yourself?"

But he had lost Tony midway through the very first sentence. "Wait, what? Your _father_?"

"He rules as Asgard's king," said the god of thunder, as though that were explanation enough. "The sentencing of prisoners is his duty."

A sneaking suspicion began to form in the back of Tony's mind. It settled there like the snake coiled up above them, just as poisonous. "You're telling me this is an official punishment?" He said the words slowly, as though tasting them; if they'd had a flavor, it would have been bitter.

"What other? Your eyes bore witness, much as mine did." Thor looked up at last, and his gaze did not waver, filled with hurt but not resentment. "This is what my brother has reaped for his crimes against Midgard."

There was a long pause as the information sank in and turned itself over. "That was two years ago," Tony said at last, flatly.

The hand holding Loki's tightened its grip in what may have been a reassuring squeeze. "I am aware."

"You're saying he's been here for two years." The tone was the same as before, inflectionless and dry, a shield against the horror creeping up unbidden.

There was a nod, and again Thor looked away, no longer willing to meet his eyes. "The time has not been kind to him."

"You don't say." Suddenly, the disbelief had stretched too thin, and Tony exploded, throwing his arms out as though to shove the situation aside. "You waited two _years_ to come and get me? Not so much as a, "Hey, Stark, my dad kind of made the garden of Eden without the trees or the apple or _anything but the snake_?" I could've finished this drain when he still had a face!" But even now, Tony thought he could see where the skin was trying to heal, the places at the edges where the weeping wounds were beginning to dry and scab. Small wonder he had lasted so long, with an Asgardian's power of healing- but perhaps the strain had damaged the ability, for it was progressing slower than he had ever seen Thor recover.

"You think I meant him pain?" All at once Thor was rising- and _there_ was the god of thunder, concern eclipsed in an instant by tempestuous rage. "Had I only my own whim to attend, I would have come immediately. I would have been at your door ere the sun had set on the first day."

The charged reaction was enough for Tony to take a step back, but not for him to back down. "But? _And_?"

"But my brother has ever had a way with words," said the Asgardian, reluctantly. "His arguments were most persuasive."

"You're telling me he was lying strapped down to this rock, getting his face eaten off, and he told you _not_ to do anything." The skepticism was back in full force, razor-lined with the churning of his stomach.

"He feared that you would bring grievance to the All-father if I were to circumvent the terms. He feared that I would be banned from this place." By slow degrees, the anger faded from Thor's posture, from the tension in his fists and the line of his jaw. In their place remained only a tired sort of melancholy, a protectiveness that showed in the way he had unconsciously angled his body between his brother and his teammate. "I'd little enough power to ease his pain, but I did what was allowed me. I brought him candles and claimed that they were for my use, as I stayed by his side. I whiled his hours away with talk, when no other would look upon him." The god of thunder turned to watch what remained of his brother's face with eyes both guilty and tender. "He had little, man of iron. He was loathe to risk losing it."

The memories rose up unbidden, one after the next. A mission run long, and Thor anxious in its wake, not waiting to celebrate with the others but claiming business elsewhere. The god's refusal to speak of his brother after Loki had been returned home for sentencing, gagged and chained. An offhanded correction to Steve's idle curiosity, and a black look that had made little sense at the time. "I go not to Asgard," Thor had told them more than once. "I have other duties to attend."

Tony was silent as it all slid into place, snapped and latched like a puzzle cube finally provided with the answers. "I'm an asshole," he said at last. "But Jesus Christ. I'm not _that_ much of an asshole."

The confusion was genuine when it came, which made it all the worse. "The people he wronged were your people. You would be within your rights for seeking redress were I to intervene."

"Oh, hey. Look at that. You did, and I didn't." Tony glanced at the figure that lay prone beside them, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of its too-thin chest. Unconscious, he thought- and probably better off for it. "Look. You've got your drain, and I'm not about to tattle to daddy. The important thing is, we've got a loophole here, and you had better plan on exploiting the everloving fuck out of it."

Thor followed Tony's gaze to his brother, a cease furrowed in the center of his brow. "I do not know the hole of which you speak, nor the loop that surrounds it."

"Intervention," Tony told him, impatient. "You just said it yourself. _You_ can't bring anything in to aid him, but apparently I can. Other people, too, I bet. So you're going to march right the hell back to Earth and get Banner." Tony Stark advanced like a man possessed, unwilling to think that perhaps the situation had struck a bit too close to home, in the areas of his own worst nightmares that he still overlooked when he was able. He refused to examine too closely the way his stomach declined to settle, or the fact that it felt like something sharp and unyielding had caught itself in his throat. He merely acted- seized the god of thunder by one wrist and hauled to get him moving. "You tell him what to expect, so he doesn't go green on us when he gets here. And you tell him to bring equipment. _Lots_ of equipment."

Thor hesitated, reluctant. "And if Banner seeks out the All-father? "

"No one's gonna run off to His Majesty de Sade." Tony's stare was uncompromising. "Newsflash, buddy. Stuff like this? This doesn't fly on Earth. You want people who're gonna keep a secret, let me tell you: no one's gonna rat you out on this one."

Thor spared one final glance for the fragile body lying bound beneath the serpent. "You will remain by his side?"

No, Tony wanted to say. Oh hell no. He didn't want to stay in the reeking, claustrophobic darkness with a monster poised above him and the shell of a man he'd hated chained beside him, in agony. But hatred only took you so far, and some things, Tony Stark had always believed, need doing- whether you want to do them or not. "I gotta make sure this thing's not going to leak," he said at last. "He doesn't look like he can take a whole lot more."

"Have faith, man of iron. My brother has ever been stronger than he seems." Thor's smile was an odd mixture of despairing and proud both at once, and from a pouch within his cloak, he drew the small device he'd used to bring them here. He twisted an outcropping in the metal with broad fingers- and then he was gone, leaving Tony alone with the prisoner.

Well, he told himself. Business first.

So Tony circled the drain to check it from each side- made sure the piping was secure- backed away to make certain it was wide enough to catch all the stray drops. When he was done, he approached the prisoner's bound form again, unable to stop watching the rise and fall of the man's chest. It was shallow and weak, the kind of motion that didn't look like it could keep going for much longer.

"Hey," said Tony. "You awake?" There was no response, but by the way Loki's lips had been eaten away, he suspected that might be because there wasn't much tongue inside any longer. Was it because his brother was no longer able to talk him out of it, Tony wondered, that Thor had finally come to him? If the venom had not done its work there, too, would this have carried on another year?

It was a thought he didn't want to have- and to shut it up, Tony stepped forward and dug in his pocket for a clean grease rag, one he'd brought for the trip but not needed. It wasn't much, but like Thor had said, it had been awhile since Loki'd had much of anything.

"Hold still a sec. Lemme see if I can get some of this off." Then he began, as gently as he was able, to mop the poison from the god of mischief's ruined face.


	3. Chapter 3

Time, Tony Stark had always believed, was a thing to be measured. Time came in minutes, in seconds; it had allotted lengths. Time was in the glowing green digital displays that greeted him in the morning when he woke and in Jarvis' calm voice telling him what hour it was when asked.

Time was not supposed to be like this, fixed and incalculable. It was not supposed to be marked by the steady drizzle of venom into the drain above him or the shallow rasp of tortured breathing. He had no clock with him, but he knew- it had been too long. Finding Banner ought to have been a simple task, and though gathering the necessary equipment might have taken longer, Thor should have been back by now. He should have been back some time ago.

Yet here was Tony, alone with the god of mischief, listening to the sound of his own voice as he talked about everything that could fill the silence. He talked about his business, about the Avengers, about Thor. He talked tech, modern jargon that probably made little sense to an Asgardian god. He talked hobbies- his own, at first, and then when that ran dry he went on to guess at Loki's. He talked about pets- he'd never had one- and girlfriends- he'd lost count.

And when safe topics ran out, when topics he could retreat behind had been all used up, Tony talked about the things he probably should have said first. "Your brother won't be much longer," he told the prisoner. "Banner's coming, too- bringing some things. We'll put in a couple of blankets, some pillows. It'll be like Better Homes and Gardens in here." He paused- lifted his gaze deliberately toward the drain so that he wouldn't have to look at the emaciated body beside him as he continued. "Get you an omelet or something, too. Hate to tell you this, but you look like you could use one."

Tony had wondered whether the man was conscious enough to be aware, whether the things he said were making any impact at all. But Loki reacted at this point, pulled weakly at the bonds, one hand opening and closing rhythmically as though grasping. For an instant, Tony thought he was asking for the promised food now, and irrational guilt reared up at the knowledge that he would have to be the one to tell him to wait. Before he'd worked up the courage to try, though, Thor's brother was moving again- was shaking his head, mindless and repetitive. It was plain he scarcely had the strength to do it, and yet Loki continued, back and forth, vehement in his refusal.

And it _was_ a refusal, Tony realized. The moment of understanding spread through him like a sliver of ice dipped in poison: he wasn't asking for the food, but telling Tony _no_. He'd offered the man nothing more elaborate than a few badly needed creature comforts, offered him nothing more than he should have had anyway, and that offer was being turned away.

Tony had been trying not to look at the bloody wreckage that was the prisoner's face, but he looked now- noted that the raw wounds had begun to recede, leaving behind them the tender pink flesh of a newly-healed sore. When Loki licked at his lips, the tongue too had that delicate, freshly-recovered look about it. There was enough of a face to have an expression, and that expression was tense, was wary and pained. The strange, hoarse rasping sound that came from Loki's throat was barely recognizable as human. It was, Tony reflected with the sinking twist of regret, probably what trying to talk sounded like when you've had your tongue and throat scorched out and haven't had any water in two years.

Tony forced himself to ignore the way his chest tightened suddenly, the way sympathy and guilt coalesced into something stronger than either. He reached out, almost casually, to pat Loki on a too-thin hand. "Look," he said, "Maybe you were still out when I told Thor, but all this? Whatever we bring, whatever we do, your dad's not gonna know. Only us Earthlings, far as the eye can see."

But Loki shook his head again, more insistently this time- made another sound low in his throat, rough and incomprehensible.

"Stop saying no. The right answer's _yes_." The strength in his own voice surprised him- and the conviction. "If you think I'm gonna walk in here and see all this and walk right back out again, you've got another thing coming." The prisoner's hand was not quite steady; it had begun to tremble, just a little. "You like tricks, right? Here's your shot. You get to break all the rules without breaking a single one."

There was a moment's hesitation- a slight twitch that might have been the hand beneath his trying to pull away, or possibly to return the gesture. And then, slowly, Loki's newly-reformed mouth twisted up into a bitter farce of a smile. A different sound forced itself from the man's throat, even as the god of mischief continued to shake his head- not one harsh rasp but many, a pained staccato that ended in a dry, wheezing cough.

Not speech this time, Tony realized. Laughter.

"Yeah, yeah," he told the god of mischief. "Laugh it up. Doesn't change that we're gonna re-enact Shawshank Redemption, here."

It was not until some time later, after the prisoner had quieted and Tony had begun to comb chunks of dried blood from the man's matted black hair with his fingers, that he realized he'd promised an escape.

* * *

"The hell took you so long?" Tony Stark demanded when, an interminable amount of time later, Thor reappeared with the small metal device in one hand. It was not Banner that stood behind him, as requested, but Rogers.

The god of thunder lowered his voice when he spoke- attempting not to disturb his brother, perhaps. "Banner was overwrought. The green one came to the surface, and time was spent in seeing him contained."

"So Rogers." Tony shifted his gaze to the soldier; he had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a ten-gallon water jug over the other, but he seemed to have forgotten both as he took in the scene. His mouth was slightly open, earnest blue eyes displaying the horror in real time as it started to dawn.

"As you say." Thor inclined his head in agreement. "If this hole in the loop is the way you surmise, his ability to carry goods will rival any other's."

Tony snorted. "More than rival. We could do worse, far as pack mules go." He glanced his teammate over one more time, took in the way the duffel bag _didn't_ bulge with hard lines or sharp angles. "Fifty bucks says he won't have half the tech I want in there, though."

Thor regarded the bag thoughtfully. "I asked for those things my brother has need of, but if it is lacking, you may go yourself and find something more suitable." The god of thunder began to walk, expecting with the unthinking pride of nobility that Tony would follow. He did, hooking a casual hand through the strap of Steve's duffel to tow him along. "How fares my brother?"

Tony indicated the prisoner with a flick of his thumb. "He's healing up. Seems like he knows what's going on around him, too."

And the god of mischief _was_ healing up. Already, where before there had been an anonymous mass of raw flesh, a face had begun to emerge. The mouth was fully formed now, the skin solid and unmarked; the nose up until high on the bridge had begun to heal over, and the forehead too, leaving only a wide swatch of skin around the eyes still slick with gore. The sores on Loki's top from the splattered venom had begun to knit together, rendering all but the deepest nearly mended. The ones underneath, where the rock had rubbed the flesh raw, didn't show the same progress- but Tony was willing to bet that as soon as they got something in there to cushion the weight with, those would close up, too. The god's breathing was stronger than it had been, and some of the tension had gone out of the frail form now that the pain had eased.

Thor drew up short at the sight of him, face some combination of genuine joy and reluctance to believe. Tony had seen that look before: it was the way hope looked, when it came out of hiding after too long. "Brother?" said the god of thunder. He reached Loki and took hold of his hand in the same motion, large fingers eclipsing the pale ones beneath them. "Does he speak the truth?"

The prisoner turned his head toward the sound of the question; the nod he gave was scarcely movement at all, but it was there.

"You have recovered much already." Thor knelt beside the injured man, examined the places where the skin had begun to mend and then reached, with touching hesitancy, to trace the new flesh with his fingertips. "But fear not. We will yet restore you to full health." The god of thunder lifted his gaze and cast it upon his teammates, an expression so full of pride and gratitude that Tony had to cross his arms and look away. "Father's restrictions do not hinder my companions in arms."

"Oh, lord," Steve Rogers was saying, somewhat distantly, as though the situation was just catching up to him. He could not seem to stop staring, face drained of color, visibly shaken. Remembering, maybe, Tony thought- remembering how close this came to things he'd seen before, back when it wasn't his ally that had slammed the door shut and thrown away the key.

But the experience of command was hard to shake, the need to act even in the face of extraordinary circumstances, and it wasn't long before Steve gathered himself and began to move, all purpose and good intent. He lowered first the water jug and then the duffel to the rock floor of the cave, unzipped the bag with a practiced hand. "Hang in there, soldier," he told the god of mischief, and the tone he used brooked no argument. "Just hang in there. We'll have you out of here in no time."

And maybe the duffel _didn't_ have all the tech Tony could have hoped for, but it certainly did have a metal-cutting saw, one that was shortly in Steve's hand and working away at the shackle enclosing Loki's left wrist. Despite himself, Tony felt a grin steal over his face, narrow and wolfish, at about the same moment that he realized no one was saying anything like, "Hey, god who trashed downtown Manhattan here," or even, "Fury's gonna dance on all our graves when he finds out."

He wasn't sure when those things had ceased to matter, but there it was- if they wanted to keep the trickster contained, they could worry about it after they got him somewhere safe. He sure as hell wasn't going to be in any shape to run right away.

When Steve withdrew the saw a short time later and the shackle remained unscratched, Thor regarded the results with resignation but not surprise. "Did I not warn you, my friend? These bonds are not of ordinary metal. They are enforced by magic, and a simple tool will not undo them."

It was Tony that answered, though- Tony who'd been struck with a sudden surge of inspiration. "If simple's no good, guess we'd better make one with all the bells and whistles." He stuck his hand out, palm up, and waggled the fingers. "Gimme the transporter, Mister Spock. I'll be in the engine room."

Steve's mouth was drawn, and there was worry in the crease of his brow. Disappointment, too: he'd hoped it would work. "Think you can handle it? Magic's not really your style."

"Maybe not casting it." Tony leaned down toward the cavern floor- ran one hand over the surface until he found a small, flat rock. As he straightened, he tucked it into his pocket. "Breaking it I think I can handle."

"Would that you can do as you say," the god of thunder told him, solemnly, and handed over the device that he had used to transport them between locations.

"Since when do I brag and not mean it?" Tony scoffed- and with a twist of the metal knob, he was gone.


End file.
